


You're Seventy Years Late

by poodlepants



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 05:32:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4292598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poodlepants/pseuds/poodlepants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve wakes up 70 years after promising Peggy Carter he wouldn't be late. Imagine his surprise when he realizes she is going to hold him to that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Seventy Years Late

Her days were scheduled down to the minute. They always started the same, get up, brush teeth, read the local paper over a cup of tea, all the usual morning rituals anyone might follow. Once that was done, she did half an hour of yoga, showered, then rode her bicycle into town to visit the market. 

This was her favorite time of day. The town was starting to wake up, the morning sun warmed her skin as she leisurely perused the daily produce offerings. She allowed herself to become immersed in the environment. She took in the sights, the sounds, the smells, and, her favorite, the textures. She loved to let her fingertips lazily skim along the offerings with her eyes closed. The locals paid her no mind as she wandered down the line of tables. She never spoke, though she was fluent in the local language, she just allowed herself to be. She listened to the rising din of life as life flourished beneath the soft morning warmth, she felt the smooth textures of the grapes beneath her fingers. She let the smell of fresh bread overwhelm her. She let herself become surrounded by the crowd. The voices were loud, some jovial, others harsh. The crowd and the voices pushed her into the middle of all the activity and crushed her. It was moments like this that reminded her she was still alive. Her pulse raced and her nerves frayed, but she needed that. She needed to feel something harsh. It was like a jumpstart to her aged system, revitalizing her so she’d be ready to face yet another day.

When she was properly annoyed, she made her selections and pedaled back to her little house by the sea. There were dishes to wash, meals to prep for, laundry to wash and hang out to dry. It was the same routine day in and day out. She would hang her laundry out on the line, burn her dinner, put out the resulting oil fires, clean up after herself, then retire to bed. 

The only witness to her farcical routine was the fish she kept in a tank on the counter. She had gotten him for company. He was small and something she wouldn’t get attached to, she had reasoned. Pets were mentally stimulating and good for a person’s health, or so she had read. While he wasn’t much of a talker, he was an excellent listener, and she could trust that he would not spill her secrets, allowing her to talk to him about everything. 

“Don’t give me that look, Rogers.” Her chest ached when she spoke the name. Rogers was not a name that was fit for a pet, but she had missed the way his name rolled off of her tongue. She missed the way any of his names rolled off of her tongue. She missed the way she fit in his arms. She missed the breadth of his shoulders taking up too much room on the sofa, so she would have to shove him to the side while he feigned innocence. She missed being told “I love you” every morning and night.

She missed him. 

She had tried to fill the hole in her heart in various ways over the years. Since alcohol was no help, she indulged and ate all the sweets she could manage. Men had come and gone, women had come and gone, but nothing fit correctly. They were either too big or too small. There was only one just right, and he...well he was now a namesake for a fish and a very judgmental fish at that. 

She poured herself a glass of wine, which was not a part of her schedule. It was a deviating indulgence that she enjoyed from time to time. Before she could get to enjoy it, though, she stilled. Something was off. Then she saw the shadow of a figure moving through her garden. The wine was forgotten as she pulled a gun out from beneath the kitchen sink. She lowered herself out of sight and crept towards the front door. The back door was locked, so whoever was trying to find their way into the house would have to spend precious minutes trying to undo her homemade security system that comprised of seven locks. 

The knock at the door was surprising. No one came to the back door to visit. No one ever really visited at all, actually. She stayed where she was, willing the person behind the door to go away so she could get back to her wine and conversation with her fish when they spoke.

“They found him, 13. We need you to come back.”


End file.
